The Sanctuary Murders: The Twenty Fourth Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew Book 24)

by Susanna Gregory

  It seemed normal, but Bartholomew knew the town well enough to detect undercurrents. Locals shot challenging glances at the students who trooped in and out of the churches, looks that were, more often than not, returned in full. Then he saw four King’s Hall men backed into a corner by a gaggle of angry bakers. The scholars’ hands hovered over the hilts of their swords, but it was the bakers who made a hasty departure when Michael bore down on them.

  ‘They accused us of being French,’ said one student defensively. His name was Foxlee, and it had been him and his three friends who had tried to pick a fight with Isnard the previous day. ‘But I was born not ten miles from here, and I have lived in England all my life.’

  ‘Whereas I hail from Bruges,’ put in another, ‘and while France may consider Flanders a vassal nation, my countrymen and I will never yield to their vile yoke.’

  ‘At least they had heard of Bruges,’ said a third. ‘When I told them I was from Koln, they asked which part of France it was in. Do none of these peasants have brains, Brother?’

  They spoke loudly enough to be heard by passers-by. These included Isnard and one of his more dubious associates – Verious the ditcher, a rogue who supplemented his meagre income with petty crime.

  ‘If you are English, why do you wear them French clothes?’ Verious demanded.

  ‘What French clothes?’ asked Bruges, startled, although Bartholomew could understand why Verious had put the question, as all four scholars wore elegant gipons, tied around the waist with belts made from gold thread. The skirts fell elegantly to their knees, and their feet were encased in calfskin boots. Around their heads were liripipes – scarves that could double as hoods. All were blue, which was King’s Hall livery, although there was no sign of the academic tabards that should have covered their finery. But it was the dash of the exotic that rendered the ensemble distinctly un-English – mother-of-pearl buttons, lace cuffs and feathers.

  ‘He cannot tell the difference between French fashions and those favoured by the Court,’ scoffed Foxlee. ‘If the King were to ride past now, this oaf would probably accuse him of being French as well.’

  ‘You seem to have forgotten your tabards,’ said Michael coolly, preventing Verious from snarling a response by raising an imperious hand. ‘Doubtless you will want to rectify the matter before the Senior Proctor fines you.’

  ‘And any townsman who jeers at them will be reported to the Sheriff for breaking the King’s peace,’ put in Bartholomew hastily, as Verious and Isnard drew breath to cackle their amusement at the speed with which the King’s Hall lads departed.

  ‘We will be in flames within a week unless Dick and I impose some serious peacekeeping measures,’ muttered Michael as he and Bartholomew went on their way. ‘The only problem is that the triumvirate veto anything I suggest.’

  Bartholomew frowned his mystification. ‘Do they want the University to burn then?’

  Michael scowled. ‘This is what happens when our colleagues elect a man who thinks he knows better than me. When de Wetherset was last in charge, the town was a very different place. He does not understand that things have changed.’

  ‘Then you had better educate him before he does any irreparable harm.’

  They began their enquiries at the Hall of Valence Marie and then Peterhouse, although no one at either College could tell them anything useful. Opposite Peterhouse was a row of houses, some of which were rented to the University for use as hostels. Unfortunately, the residents had either been out or had noticed nothing unusual until they had seen the smoke, at which point the culprit would likely have been well away. The fourth house they visited was larger than the others, and had recently been renovated to a very high standard.

  ‘It is a dormitory for Tyled Hostel,’ explained Michael as they knocked on its beautiful new door. ‘That place has more money than is decent.’

  A student came to escort them to a pleasant refectory at the back of the house, where he and his friends were entertaining – the triumvirate were ensconced there, enjoying cake and honeyed wine. De Wetherset and Aynton were members of Tyled, but it was strange to see Heltisle – the Master of Bene’t – in a hostel, as he usually deemed such places beneath him, even wealthy ones like Tyled, and was brazen in his belief that Colleges were far superior foundations. Then Bartholomew saw several metal pens displayed on the table, and realised that Heltisle was there in the hope of making a sale.

  The triumvirate looked sleek and prosperous that day, and had donned clothes that were bound to aggravate the locals. De Wetherset’s gold pilgrim badge glittered on a gorgeous velvet hat; Heltisle seemed to have done his utmost to emulate the Dauphin; and even the usually sober Aynton wore French silk hose. It was needlessly provocative, and Bartholomew was disgusted that they did not set a better example.

  ‘We have already asked these lads if they saw anything suspicious yesterday,’ said Aynton with one of his benign grins. ‘None did, because they were all at a lecture.’

  ‘But Theophilis told us that the dead lunatics were from a family called Girard,’ said Heltisle, pronouncing the name in the English way. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Michael cautiously. ‘Why? Did you know them?’

  ‘They are the ones that de Wetherset and I hired as proxies in the call to arms,’ replied Heltisle. ‘At considerable expense.’

  ‘What a pity,’ said Bartholomew with uncharacteristic acerbity. ‘Now you will have to go to the butts yourselves.’

  ‘We are too important to waste our time there,’ declared Heltisle. ‘Besides, I do not need to practise. I am already an excellent shot and very handy with a sword.’

  ‘Not that we will ever have to put such talents to work, of course,’ put in de Wetherset. ‘If we are obliged to march to war, we shall be employed as clerks or scribes.’

  ‘No – generals,’ countered Heltisle. ‘Directing battles from a safe distance.’

  Bartholomew laughed, although he knew the Vice-Chancellor had not been joking.

  ‘I did not hire a Girard,’ put in Aynton. ‘My proxy was Bruges the Fleming from King’s Hall. But after you said such an arrangement smacked of cowardice, Brother, I released him from my service. I do not want to earn the contempt of townsfolk or of fellow scholars.’

  ‘His name is Bruges, you say?’ asked de Wetherset keenly.

  ‘Yes, but you are too late to snag him for yourself,’ said Aynton apologetically. ‘Theophilis overheard me talking to him, and hired him on the spot. He told me the University would need to keep some of its officials back, if the Chancellor, the Vice-Chancellor, the Commissary and the Senior Proctor are obliged to go and fight the French.’

  ‘You see, Brother?’ murmured Bartholomew. ‘You are reckless to trust Theophilis – he has ambitions to rule the University all on his own.’

  Michael ignored him. ‘How well did you know these Girard men?’

  ‘We met them twice,’ replied Heltisle. ‘Once to discuss the matter, and once to hand over the money we agreed to pay.’

  He named the sum, and Bartholomew felt his jaw drop. It was a fortune.

  ‘We understand one of the children survived,’ said de Wetherset. ‘Perhaps you would see that the money stays with her, Brother. We had a contract with her kin, and it is hardly her fault that they are no longer in a position to honour it.’

  ‘That is generous,’ said Michael suspiciously.

  ‘It is,’ agreed Heltisle, and smiled craftily. ‘Perhaps word of our largesse will spread, and another lunatic will offer us his sword.’

  ‘No,’ said de Wetherset sharply. ‘It is not self-interest that guides us. The truth is that I feel sorry for the girl – parents, aunt, uncle and brother, all dead. It is a heavy burden to bear.’

  Heltisle retorted that he was a sentimental fool, and an ill-tempered spat followed, with Aynton struggling to mediate. While they bickered, Bartholomew pulled Michael to one side and spoke in an undertone.

  ‘Do you think someone heard what the Girard
s were paid and decided to steal it? There are plenty who would kill for a fraction of that amount.’

  ‘We shall bear it in mind,’ Michael whispered back. ‘But why would the Girards offer to bear arms against their countrymen? Or did they take the money with no intention of honouring the arrangement? After all, it cannot be cheap to stay in hiding, so any means of gaining a quick fortune . . .’

  ‘Perhaps we should include de Wetherset and Heltisle on our list of murder suspects – they realised the Girards aimed to cheat them and took revenge.’

  ‘If they are capable of incinerating an entire family, they would not be hiring proxies to go to war on their behalf – they would be itching to join the slaughter in person.’

  Bartholomew supposed that was true, although he decided to watch both scholars carefully until their innocence was proven. He was about to say so, when there was a knock on the door and two men were shown in bearing missives for the Chancellor’s attention. Michael’s jaw dropped when he saw the couriers’ clothes.

  ‘Those are beadles’ uniforms!’ he breathed, shocked. ‘How dare you wear—’

  ‘These are a couple of the new recruits Heltisle has hired,’ explained de Wetherset. ‘To protect us against the growing aggression of the town.’

  Michael gaped at him. It was the Senior Proctor’s prerogative to choose beadles, and he took the duty seriously. They were no longer a ragtag band of louts who could gain employment nowhere else, noted for drunkenness and a love of bribes, but professionals, who were paid a decent wage and were treated with respect. They were picked for their ability to use reason rather than force, although they were reliable fighters in a crisis. Heltisle’s men were surly giants, who looked as though they would rather start a fight than stop one.

  ‘If you thought we needed more men, you should have told me,’ said Michael between gritted teeth. ‘I would have been more than happy to—’

  ‘I assumed you would not mind,’ said Heltisle slyly. ‘After all, you regularly relieve de Wetherset of the duties that go with his office, so I thought you would not object to me doing the same to you.’

  ‘I hardly think—’ began Michael indignantly.

  ‘I took on a dozen,’ interrupted Heltisle, enjoying the monk’s growing outrage. ‘All good fellows who will make townsmen think twice about crossing us.’

  ‘And how will you pay for them?’ demanded Michael curtly. ‘Because it will not be out of the Senior Proctor’s budget.’

  ‘We shall use the Destitute Scholars’ Fund,’ replied Heltisle, and shrugged when Michael regarded him in disbelief. ‘It is only penniless low-borns who need it, and I do not want them here anyway.’

  ‘These “penniless low-borns” are often our best thinkers,’ said Bartholomew quietly. ‘Our University will be a poorer place without them.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ stated Heltisle contemptuously, and turned back to Michael, indicating the new beadles as he did so. ‘My recruits are a cut above the weaklings you favour, and will be a credit to the University.’

  ‘I hope you are right,’ said Michael tightly. ‘Because any inadequacies on their part will fall at your door, not mine.’

  ‘No, all beadles are your responsibility,’ said Heltisle sweetly. ‘And there is another thing: a letter arrived from the Bishop this morning. It was addressed to you, but I assumed it was really meant for the Chancellor, so I opened it.’

  Michael struggled not to give him the satisfaction of losing his temper. ‘How very uncouth. I would never stoop to such uncivilised antics.’

  This was a downright lie, as he stole missives addressed to the triumvirate on a daily basis. Grinning, Heltisle produced the document in question. It was thick with filth, so he had wrapped it in a rag to protect his hands.

  ‘It fell in a cowpat,’ he explained gloatingly. ‘Are you not going to take it and see what it says?’

  ‘I will tell you, Brother,’ said Aynton, shooting the Vice-Chancellor an admonishing look for his childishness. ‘It is about a field in Girton. The Bishop owns it, but he wants to transfer the title to St Andrew’s Church.’

  It was Michael’s turn to grin. ‘You are right, Heltisle – the Bishop would rather the Chancellor sorted it out. Unfortunately, the deeds pertaining to that piece of land are so complex that they will take weeks to unravel. I recommend he delegates the matter to a deputy. You, for example.’

  He bowed and sailed out. As Bartholomew turned to follow, he heard de Wetherset remark that perhaps he had better do as the Senior Proctor suggested, as a Chancellor could not afford to waste time on trivialities. He did not catch Heltisle’s reply, but he did hear Aynton rebuke him for foul language.

  * * *

  Out on the street, Michael’s temper broke, and he railed furiously about Heltisle’s effrontery. Bartholomew let him rant, knowing he would feel better for it. The tirade might have gone on longer, but they bumped into Theophilis, who had been in the Gilbertine Priory, giving a lecture on his Calendarium. Michael was far too enraged for normal conversation, so Bartholomew took the opportunity to ask the Junior Proctor about the proxy he had snapped up when Aynton had decided against using one.

  ‘Bruges the Fleming.’ Theophilis spoke so silkily that Bartholomew’s skin crawled. ‘I hired him for you, Brother. The University will need strong leaders if lots of us are called to fight, and you are the only man I trust to watch our interests while I am away.’

  ‘You are kind, Theophilis,’ said Michael. ‘But as a monk in major holy orders, I am exempt from the call to arms. I do not need a proxy.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Theophilis impatiently. ‘But you will need a good man at your side, so Bruges will stand in for whoever you select to help you. Perhaps you will pick me, but perhaps you will decide on another – the choice will be yours to make.’

  ‘You see, Matt?’ said Michael, when the Junior Proctor had gone. ‘His intentions are honourable. He was thinking of the University, not himself.’

  Bartholomew did not believe it for an instant, but knew there was no point in arguing. He and Michael went to the house next to Tyled’s dormitory, where they learned that the owners – a tailor and his wife – were ‘far too busy to gaze out of windows all day like lazy scholars’.

  When they emerged, Tulyet was waiting to report that none of his spies had heard the slightest whisper of groups of Frenchmen in the area – and they had all been alert for such rumours, given what had happened to Winchelsea.

  ‘Perhaps the Gilbertines will have noticed something useful,’ said Michael, although his shoulders slumped; their lack of success was beginning to dishearten him.

  They had not taken many steps towards the priory before they met Sir Leger and Sir Norbert, marching along with an enormous train of townsfolk at their heels, most from the nearby King’s Head tavern. The two knights wore military surcoats, and their hands rested on the hilts of their broadswords. All their followers carried some kind of weapon – cudgels, pikes or knives.

  ‘What are you doing?’ demanded Tulyet, aghast. ‘You cannot allow such a great horde to stamp about armed to the teeth! It is needlessly provocative.’

  ‘Needlessly provocative?’ echoed Leger with calculated insolence. ‘We are preparing to repel a French invasion, as per the King’s orders.’

  ‘All true and loyal Englishmen will applaud our efforts,’ put in the swarthy, hulking Norbert, ‘which means that anyone who does not is a traitor. Besides, if there is any trouble, it will not be us who started it, but that University you love so much.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Leger smugly. ‘Because all we and our recruits are doing is walking along a public highway, minding our own business.’

  ‘Do not test me,’ said Tulyet tightly. ‘I know what you are trying to do and I will not have it. Either you behave in a manner commensurate with your rank, or I shall send you back to the King in disgrace. Do I make myself clear?’

  Norbert looked as though he would argue, but the more intelligent Leger knew they had oversteppe
d the mark. He nodded sullenly, jabbing his friend in the back to prevent him from saying something that would allow Tulyet to carry out his threat.

  ‘Where were you going?’ Bartholomew asked in the tense silence that followed.

  ‘The butts,’ replied Leger stiffly. ‘For archery practice.’

  ‘The butts are ours on Wednesdays,’ said Michael. ‘You cannot have them today.’

  When the King had first issued his call to arms, a field near the Barnwell Gate had been hastily converted into a shooting range – ‘the butts’. As it was the only suitable land available, both the town and the University had wanted it, so Tulyet and Michael had agreed on a timetable: the town had it on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays, while scholars had it on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. There had been no infringements so far, but everyone knew it was only a question of time before one side defaulted, at which point there would be a fracas.

  ‘Take them to the castle instead,’ ordered Tulyet. ‘It is time they learned something of hand-to-hand combat. I shall join you there later, to assess the progress you have made. I hope I will not be disappointed.’

  There was a murmur of dismay in the ranks, as infantry training was far less popular than archery. Norbert opened his mouth to refuse, but Leger inclined his head.

  ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘We shall teach everyone how to use a blade. I have always found throat-slitting and stabbing to be very useful skills. Men! Forward march!’

  ‘There will be a battle before the week is out,’ predicted Tulyet, watching them tramp away. ‘They itch to spill your blood, and the University itches to spill ours. But I had better go and make sure they do as they are told. While I do, ask the Gilbertines if they saw our murderous arsonist slinking past, and we shall go to the Spital as soon as I get back.’

  The Gilbertine Priory was a beautiful place, and Bartholomew knew it well, as he was often summoned to tend poorly canons. They had a more liberal attitude towards women than the other Orders, and had not minded at all when Michael had asked them to house a few nuns during the conloquium. They had offered them the use of their guesthouse, a building that stood apart from the main precinct, although still within its protective walls.